Ponteach monologue (Act 2) — Ponteach; Or, The Savages of America

I've sounded all their Minds; there's but a few That are not warm and hearty in our Cause, And those faint Hearts we'll punish at our Leisure: For hither tends my Purpose; to subdue The Tribes who now their annual Homage pay To the imperious haughty Mohawk Chief, Whose Pride and Insolence 'tis Time to curb. He ever boasts the Greatness of his Empire, The Swiftness, Skill and Valour of his Warriors, His former Conquests, and his fresh Exploits, The Terror of his Arms in distant Lands, And on a Footing puts himself with me, For Wisdom to contrive, and Power to do. Such a proud Rival must not breathe the Air; I'll die in fighting, or I'll reign alone O'er every Indian Nation, Tribe, and Chief. But this in solemn Silence we conceal, Till they're drawn in to fight the common Foe, Then from my Face, the sly Disguise I'll cast, And shew them Ponteach to their Surprise.